


The Witch Child

by TheAntleredPolarBear



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAntleredPolarBear/pseuds/TheAntleredPolarBear
Summary: Sigyn (surname unknown) has lived hand-to-mouth in the Fereldan Hinterlands for ten years, nothing to her name but her bow, a pack and the clothes on her back. When the Circles revolt and war breaks out, she finds she has much more to deal with than wolves, bandits and bears. Even more so after she meets Camile, a lost child who brings up memories of Sigyn's own past.They say time is a flat circle, but the least Sigyn can do is brighten up the next iteration.





	The Witch Child

The Tree of the People. That’s what the elves called it, if Thrask remembered rightly. It towered above the run-down apartments and ramshackle merchant stands of the alienage. A gentle breeze sent dappled spots of sunlight dancing across the square as it rustled through the leaves. Some of them were beginning to yellow. Autumn would be coming soon.

The girl sat among its roots. Painfully thin, her bones sawed under her dark brown skin as she tore strips from a loaf of nutty bread and folded them into her mouth. Her filthy, silver hair hung limply around her face. She looked like she hadn’t been bathed properly in days. A pair of almost-black eyes darted around the square before she returned to her meal.

Thrask thought of his little Olivia. Hopefully, she was warm and safe and folded into her mother’s loving arms, far away from the dangers of the Fade. This girl...Maker, she looked _younger_ than Olivia. He swallowed down a lump in his throat.

He hated taking the children.

The man beside him took an eager step forward. Thrask threw out an arm, catching him in the chest. He stumbled a little, and gave Thrask a scandalised look.

“Easy, soldier,” he said. “Let me talk to her first.”

The young man seemed to tense. What was his name? Martin? Melville? He knew it began with an M. “Ser, the Knight-Captain told me...”

Frustration grated at the inside of his ribcage. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Mettin, ser.” Ah, so he was right.

“Mettin, it’s far easier to deal with a child you’ve been gentle to,” Thrask explained, “rather than a child you have snatched. Stand behind me. And try to smile. Maker knows she’ll be scared enough without you glowering at her.”

He didn’t give Mettin a chance to argue before he moved. Knight-Captain Meredith might not have valued a gentle approach, but Thrask had always found the method worked well enough. And besides, Meredith wasn’t here.

She watched him as he approached. Her eyes were dull from hunger, but wide and unnerved. Thrask squatted, and offered the child a friendly smile.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Hello,” he said, kindly. The child was silent, and utterly motionless; she held the bread as if it was the most precious treasure she’d ever come across. But she wasn’t trying to run away, and that had to count for something. “It’s all right. There’s nothing to fear from me.”

The girl clutched the bread tighter, sending little seeds falling to the ground. “I stole the bread, ser.” She sounded like she may have come from Starkhaven, though of course he didn’t know for certain. “I didn’t mean to be bad. I was so hungry and I didn’t want to go home.”

“It’s all right. I’m not here for that.” She did not look convinced. “I am Ser Thrask. And this man behind me, this is Ser Mettin. We’re Templars.”

The child’s eyes widened. “Are you here to protect me?”

He nodded. So she had some idea of what Templars were. Thrask hoped that would make things easier.

“Tell me, have you ever made something happen that ought to be impossible?” he asked. He kept his tone nonchalant, conversational. The girl mused on his question for a moment or two. Then she leaned in closer, as though imparting a great secret.

“I can make things go cold, just with my hands,” she said. Her dark eyes were full of conviction, and a smidgeon of pride. “And sometimes…sometimes I can make snow, or ice.”

“Elemental magic,” he replied. “Very impressive for one so young.”

The child smiled, more to herself than to Thrask. Paying her a compliment seemed to cheer her up immensely. He made a mental note of that. A child starved for praise made an easy target for more unsavoury characters.

“My name is Sigyn,” she said.

“Sigyn,” Thrask repeated. “Would you like to come with us, Sigyn?”

Any trust that they seemed to have built almost fell away completely. She squeezed the bread tight again, tight enough for it to start tearing in her hands.

“Where?” she asked, pure fear staining the question.

“It’s all right, Sigyn,” Thrask assured her, hurriedly. “We’re here to protect you. We’re going to take you somewhere safe. You won’t have to steal food any longer.”

Sigyn scowled at him, her big, dark eyes full of suspicion. But after a few moments, her face softened, scepticism overtaken by hunger. As if to underline it, her stomach gave a loud rumble.

“Somewhere safe,” she echoed.

“Somewhere safe.”

“Do you promise?”

It felt as though a hook had been yanked forward from behind his heart. He could have sobbed from the pity, but instead he smiled and nodded. “I promise.”

A few more moments passed in silence. Mettin shifted behind him, armour clinking with soft noises. Somewhere up in the tree, a blackbird began to sing, signalling the start of the evening chorus. The threat of evening drawing in seemed to sway Sigyn’s decision; Thrask couldn’t blame her for not wanting to spend a night out in the cold.

“Somewhere safe,” she said, once more. She held out a tiny hand, shrivelled with malnutrition. Thrask held out his own. Her grip on his fingers was surprisingly strong.

Thrask smiled, kindly. He stood, and spared a smug look for Mettin, before the three walked out through the gates.


End file.
